"You must put me out of your head," said Mrs. Ewing. "I am old enough to
be your mother; I am ill unto death. You must not love me in any way."

"I cannot help it"

Mrs. Ewing hesitated. "I have a mind to tell you something," she said in
a low voice. "Can I rely upon you?"

"I would die before I told, if you said I was not to," cried James.

"It might almost come to that," said the woman gravely. "A very serious
matter is involved, otherwise there would not be this secrecy. I cannot
tell you what the matter is, but I can tell you something which will
cure you of loving me."

"I don't want to be cured," protested James, "and I have told you it is
a love like worship, it is not--"

Mrs. Ewing interrupted him. "The worship of a young man is not to be
trusted," she said. "I cannot have you made to suffer. I will tell you,
but, remember, if you betray me you will do awful harm. Neither the
doctor nor Clemency even must know that I tell you. The doctor knows, of
course, the secret; Clemency does not know, and must never know. It
would be the undoing of all of us, the terrible undoing, if this were to
get out, but I will tell you. You are a good boy, and you shall be
spared needless pain. Listen." She leaned forward and whispered close to
his ear. James started back, and stared at her as white as death. Mrs.
Ewing smiled. "It hurts a little, I know," she said, "but better this
now than worse later. You are foolish to feel so about me; you were at a